Atmosphere
by Melcena
Summary: It would be so easy to hurt you. 5+1. Angst. POV.


Title: Atmosphere  
Paring:5+1  
Author: Melcena  
Contact: melcena@hotmail.com  
Archive? Ask  
Warnings: Angst, short, draft version. Pre-EW.  
Comments: Erm... since my huge angsty alternate universe fics aren't   
cooperating with me I've once again turned to a short angsty fic   
which focuses more on flow than plot. But I didn't kill anyone this   
time! Anyway, this is sort of my version of the way   
things /could/ have been going for Wufei between the series and EW.   
It's just the first draft and I'm not too happy with the way it ends.   
If anyone has any, I'm open to suggestions.   
  
/.../ = italics  
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I have a strange facination with the hollow of his throat. The skin   
is so fragile there, so thin, while his life beats away just beneath.   
Every time we make love I have to touch it, with lips, with tongue,   
with teeth. And I know that I am the only one who sees him so   
vulnerable. I am the only one who has ever touched him, gently, with   
the full knowledge of what it means to him.  
  
The others would be surprised by how much a simple touch is to him.  
  
No one would ever suspect the amount of tactile contact he really   
needs - he was raised with so little love. My own family was never   
affectionate and rarely praising but I never doubted that they loved   
me, in their own ways. Heero never even had that. All he's ever   
known is mission acknowledged, mission completed. Now, during   
peacetime, all of his training, his entire way of life is obsolete.   
And he doesn't know what to do. He's lost in a world that no longer   
needs him to do it's dirty work. So he's turned to the only type of   
communication he's ever really been comfortable with - the physical.   
  
He always has to touch me to make sure I'm here. His feelings   
manifest physically and he needs me to reciprocate in the same way.   
With him it's always small brushes of hands and lips, sitting close   
enough to touch, acting as if the bed is twice as small as it really   
is. He needs so much and sometimes I'm afraid that I can't give him   
enough.  
  
We are both so unsure. I've never truly been in a relationship   
before. My wife died before I really had a chance to know her, before   
I had a chance to love her. I don't know the finer points of being in   
love or of allowing myself to be loved. For a long time after Meiran   
died I didn't believe I was worth such an emotion. On some levels I   
still don't.  
  
Heero hasn't had much more experience. I know he spent some time with   
Maxwell after the war - in what capacity, though, I'm uncertain.   
Maxwell has been half in love with him from the beginning. There are   
nights, lying tangled with him in our bed in our room in our house, I   
wonder what made him choose me. He always knows when I am thinking   
those thoughts. When I let myself wander into them he invariably   
makes a point of pressing closer to me. It's his way of saying /I'm   
here. I'm not going anywhere/. And I know he isn't.  
  
'Love' is a word that has passed between us only rarely. Neither of   
us are given to verbal communication and expressing things in words   
doesn't come naturally. The few times either of us have managed to   
say 'I love you' has always been accompanied by a rush of something   
akin to fear. I've often told myself to feel so is weakness -   
everything he inspires in me is weakness - yet I can never find it in   
myself to walk away. I /need/ him. And that scares me more than   
anything.  
  
I've never liked admitting to needing anything in the first place.   
  
I gotten past most of my self-doubt, most of my self-loathing. Yet   
there are still times when I look at him and wonder how I could ever   
deserve to hold his heart. He's so very open to me - if I ever wanted   
to, I could hurt him easily. It's a frightening amount of power to   
hold over anyone, but especially him. Especially Heero, the one so   
many have called indestructible.  
  
I don't want to trust myself with that. I don't want to trust myself   
not to break the skin at the base of his throat. I want to think that   
it would hurt him less if I left sooner rather than later. But /I   
don't know how to let him go/.  
  
And sometimes, when he's lying quietly, anticipatingly beneath me I   
feel as if the entire world is pressing down on me, crushing the air   
out of my lungs and all I can think is /I can't breathe I can't   
breathe I can't breathe/. But I remind myself that it's Heero -  
/Heero/ - and it passes.   
  
Still. Still. There has to be something wrong with me. I love him so. 


End file.
